


On Hale Pond

by gertrudeabernathy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cold!Stiles, Derek lies, Derek tries to be honourable, Loneliness, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gertrudeabernathy/pseuds/gertrudeabernathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek really wants to do the right thing. Stiles is losing it. Or maybe he has lost it completely, somewhere on his early-morning walk through the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Hale Pond

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is wildly derivative. First try. 
> 
> Also: I have never been quite where Stiles gets to (thank god) so if anyone who has been there is irate at my attempt to get at his mental state, it's probably fair enough.

It was a month into the Fall and Stiles had stopped feeling anything, except tired.  
  
Up to the point when his dad came home with no job, Stiles had still been boiling with frustration.  
  
He had tried. He had decided that the pining had to stop, no matter what. So he had forced himself to be honest - and humiliated himself yet again. He had let go of every bit of good sense or dignity or judgment, and kissed Derek Hale. And when his kind-of-friend had pushed him away in what was probably disgust, Stiles hadn’t let it go. He had begged.  
  
“Stiles, stop!” Derek had said, holding him away from him by the shoulders. (Big hands on his shoulders.)  
  
“You don’t get it. All I want is for you to kiss me,” Stiles had pleaded, reaching out to put his hand over Derek’s angrily pounding heart. “If you knew what was going on in my head - I think about you all the time … about - touching you and being with you!”  
  
“This is not OK.” The big wolf had closed his eyes. “You are too young to know what you want, and I am the last person to push you into anything.”  
  
“How are YOU pushing ME, Derek? How?” Stiles whispered urgently, leaning down to put his face into the curve of Derek’s throat, stepping in and closing the gap between them, even sliding his thigh between Derek’s to try to trigger some sort of reaction. “You look at me sometimes - I see you looking - and even though I don’t know anything about anything - fuck! I know you feel something for me. Just fucking kiss me back, and don’t even try to make me think this is just me. Please!” And in case Derek wasn’t getting the message, he put his mouth softly against his throat and licked at the salty skin.  
  
For just a moment he thought his wild Hail Mary had paid off; he was sure he felt Derek melt back helplessly against the wall, thought the groan he felt in Derek’s throat was about passion. But then he had been shoved back, and he staggered into the middle of the room, arms flailing momentarily.  
  
“No way, Stiles, no.” Derek’s voice was harsh and final. “I don’t know what you thought… this isn’t going to happen, anyway. You need to get a grip.”  
  
Stiles felt dizzy. “Fuck.”  
  
“You should probably go home.”  
  
“I should - OK. So. Right. Ha! This is not a great feeling, I have to say. As it turns out, you fucking hate me.”  
  
“Stop that. Don’t - ”  
  
“Oh I’ve stopped, don’t worry.” The shame spiral kicked in so hard that he grabbed at the back of the couch with both hands to keep his feet under him. “I thought if you knew for sure … oh dear God. Not the best plan as it turns out, was it? Not my finest hour!”  
  
“Stiles, calm down, you idiot! Don’t start tearing yourself apart for no reason!”  
  
“I am so sorry - I … I’ll get going. It would be great if you could just forget about … I don’t know what all that was - I’m really sorry if I embarrassed you.” And Stiles was making for the door, trembling and sick to his stomach.  
  
“Listen, don’t …” Derek looked utterly miserable.  
  
“Bye.” And Stiles was out the door and walking away from the house with his fists balled in his pockets. He made it as far as the door of his jeep, and pressed his burning face and body to the cold metal and glass. “Fuck. Fuck! FUUUUCK!” he yelled at full volume to the night sky, enraged with his own uselessness. “When will you fucking learn you IDIOT?” he shouted at himself.  
  
Then he realised that Derek would still be listening. He sagged against the car, almost too tired to move.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, and forced himself to fumble for his keys, climb into the jeep and drive away.

\--------------

He spent a day and a night thrashing himself to pieces with embarrassment, and another night not bothering to hold back his tears, till the really bad things happened.  
  
“I am so sorry”, he had murmured at the kitchen floor, as his dad poured himself a second drink. Stiles hated the smell of the scotch.  
  
“I don’t really understand what has happened,” his father said wearily to the table top. “You didn’t use to lie to me … I thought we were close.”  
  
Stiles’ chest felt hollow. “Don’t say that - we are. Really.”  
  
“No.” His father shook his head slowly. “I just don’t think we are any more. I suppose it is normal for a teenager to grow apart from his - “ and he broke off.  
  
Stiles stepped forward and put his hand tentatively on his dad’s shoulder. “I am sorry things have been so weird lately.” His father winced, and all Stiles could do was to whisper. “Dad - you have to know I love you.”  
  
His father looked up at him and shook his head. “I know you do - but I have started to feel like I don’t know you anymore. I can’t trust you, Stiles.”  
  
“You can, Dad, you really can.” But there was only silence and an uncomprehending look. “Good night then.” And Stiles was gone up the stairs, to lie on his bed, dry-eyed, waiting for a morning that couldn’t fix anything.

\-------------

The next day was Friday and Stiles was sitting next to Scott in the cafeteria.  
  
“How come you’re so quiet lately?” said Scotty, pausing in his rundown of all of the possible reasons the Argents might let him date Allison again if he played his cards right.  
  
“I’m fine,” said Stiles.  
  
“Are you fine?” said Scott. “You look really bad actually.”  
  
“Wow. Thanks.”  
  
“What is wrong?”  
  
“Nothing. Except my dad hates me because he got suspended, and Derek hates me because I am an idiot.”  
  
Scott laughed. “How much must Derek hate ME then dude?! But that is pretty terrible about your Dad. He’ll get over it though.”  
  
“I am not sure he will,” said Stiles really quietly, letting the idea sink into his mind. He started to think of the story of that Russian sub beneath the Arctic ice, going down and down, colder and darker and quieter.  
  
“Come on Stiles! He is YOUR DAD - he’s the nicest guy ever and he will totally come around. Now Chris Argent - he has to be going nuts, right?” Scott was off, back onto his number one topic - and Stiles could only stare as his friend got re-enthused about ways of shutting down the cold war with the hunters. Stiles saw clearly that the subject of his collapse as a human being was not going to be discussed further that day. In a way it was a relief. He hadn’t been looking forward to Scott’s disbelief and/or revulsion about the whole Derek thing.  
  
Which thing still made him shiver when he thought about Derek’s heart pounding under his hand. And made his mouth bitter with shame when he thought about his own ridiculous, desperate behaviour.

  


\-------------

The next day was unseasonably cold. There was a drift of early snow. Stiles lay on his bed wondering whether it was worth doing his homework. He ate toasted cheese and didn’t talk to anyone. That night he had a long string of nightmares he didn’t really understand or remember clearly, although they were bad enough to wake him up over and over. 

\-------------

Very early on Sunday morning, he woke up with his mind a blank. Then the state of play rushed back in on him.  
  
His oldest friend didn’t know he was alive.  
  
His dad didn’t love him anymore.  
  
Derek wanted nothing to do with him.  
  
He got out of bed and stripped, looking at himself in the mirror. He saw a too-thin torso and pale skin marred with little moles here and there. “No wonder Derek wouldn’t let you touch him. You really are a hideous freak, you know?” he said to his reflection in disgust.  
  
“No doubt about that.” His image leered back at him.  
  
He looked at his Adderall and decided to skip it. Then he pulled on his jeans and boots and a jacket and headed out into the woods.

  


\------------

He found himself by the deep black pond on the Hale land, a mile at least from the house. It looked to be iced over completely after yesterday’s cold weather, though there were suspiciously shiny patches.  
  
Stiles found himself staring at the ice. He could walk out. And maybe it would hold him up, and maybe it wouldn’t.  
  
“Why the fuck not?” he asked aloud. He remembered reading that after you give up the struggle for air, drowning isn’t a bad way to go.  
  
And he couldn’t keep going like he was. He was just too tired. And no matter how fast they raced, or how many directions they tried to run in, his thoughts kept jamming up against things that were hurting him more and more. Anywhere it didn’t hurt, there was just the numbness creeping in. He couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t feeling tired.  
  
He started to walk out onto the pond.

\-------------

Derek heard the distant question and the eerie, soft creaking of the ice, and started running.

\--------------

Stiles was standing about 30 feet out on the slippery sunlit surface when Derek reached the bank.  
  
“What the fuck!” he yelled.  
  
“Oh, hey, Derek,” called Stiles. “I guess I should have been quieter about this eh? I thought I was pretty quiet though.”  
  
“What are you fucking doing, you idiot?” he shouted.  
  
“What makes you think I am doing anything, you hideous stupid red-eyed dick?”  
  
Derek stared in disbelief for a minute. Stiles took another step back and away.  
  
“Stop! Please stop moving. Stiles: what is going on in your head?”  
  
“Well, I don’t know really. It has not been a great week for the Stilinskis.”  
  
“Listen: I can’t walk out there.”  
  
Stiles laughed. “I don’t want you to come out here, Derek. I want you to go the fuck home.”  
  
“If I walk out there we might both go through, and I am not sure how long you would survive in that water. And it’s deep and it isn’t clear. If you went down before I got hold of you, I don’t know how fast I could find you.”  
  
“Go home, Derek.”  
  
“Start walking back to me right now. Tread where you trod before maybe.”  
  
“What do you care anyway?”  
  
Derek stood stock still. “I can’t believe - this isn’t you. This is a mean, shitty thing to do. It’s - cruel. To me, to Scott, to your Dad, right? How were we meant to ever, ever get over it?” He rubbed wildly at his face with his sleeve. “I thought you’d be angry, but I never thought you’d be looking for revenge, Stiles. Or not like this, anyway.”  
  
Stiles got a mental picture of Derek telling his Dad what he’d found in his woods. Telling Scott. A second later he bent over, seized with what felt like a stitch in his side, like he’d been running. “Shit. No. I wasn’t thinking - it’s not like. Derek. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Hey - don’t - you haven’t done anything yet. Just get your ass back here.”  
  
“OK. It wasn’t like what you said - it wasn’t for - that. Wait.” Stiles slid one foot forward, testing the ice.  
  
“That was me trying to make you feel better back there, by the way, did you hear that?” Derek rubbed a wild hand over his face again.  
  
Stiles took a tentative step back towards the bank. “Yes, thank you, that was beautiful. I think you have a special gift.” A plane of ice under his foot lurched a little and Derek gave a sudden shout of horror. Their eyes locked for a moment across the distance. “Calm down, big guy. I’ll be back over there in a minute.” And Stiles stepped forward again, gritting his teeth against his own fear, closing the gap.  
  
“Don’t spin this out, please. That sun is only going to be weakening the ice. I can hear it shifting.”  
  
“How deep is it here anyway? Won’t I be able to touch the bottom soon if I go down?”  
  
“It’s fifteen feet deep where you are and if you get trapped under a solid piece of ice, we’re both fucked.”  
  
“OK, good to know,” said Stiles grimly, sliding his feet onto a new plane with intense concentration.  
  
There was a low cracking sound that even human ears could hear from the far side of the pond, where the late Autumn sun was doing its work.  
  
“Fuck it, Stiles, run! Just RUN!” cried Derek, and Stiles obliged, running in a dreadful slippery chaotic stagger until his booted foot smashed through right at the edge and he went in down to his hip. Derek was already catching his arm though, and he hauled him out gasping.  
  
“Oh that was really really cold,” he whined through chattering teeth, sitting down abruptly on the ground. Derek sat down behind him and held him tightly to his chest, with his arms and legs around him. Stiles felt the gratifying heat of his hard body, his stubble pressed to his soft cheek, and his mouth moving against his ear as he whispered.  
  
“Stiles?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Are you OK?”  
  
And Stiles started to laugh and cough hard, all at once, till it subsided and he could push back a little against the warmth behind him. “I have no idea. Maybe. Sure. I’m good.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“It was good you didn’t go right under the water.”  
  
“Yeah. It was cold in there.”  
  
“You scared the shit out of me. Do you get that?”  
  
“Yeah. I am sorry. I really don’t know what’s going on with me, actually.” A strangled laugh shook Stiles’ chest. Derek’s arms only tightened around him, and Stiles shivered hard. “I can’t cry.”  
  
“No. You should let it - whatever.”  
  
“No I mean - the crying thing in me: it’s broken. Nothing… nothing comes out.” Derek felt a sob rise up almost like a convulsion in that wiry frame, and then every muscle and tendon seemed to go slack. Derek slipped a careful arm under Stiles’ shoulders.  
  
“I am just going to carry you back to the house, because although I am all about your dignity and everything, I don’t think you can walk it right now.”  
  
“You are probably right,” slurred Stiles, losing the plot completely in the big wolf’s arms. 

\--------------

He woke up on the bed in Derek’s room, as his soaking wet jeans were being dragged down over his thighs. His boots were thrown over in the corner.  
“You’re back. You were out a few minutes there.”  
  
Stiles shivered hard. “Have you got some boxers or something? These are wet too.”  
  
“Right.” He threw a pair of soft black shorts at the bed, and turned his back self-consciously. “And sorry about starting the whole warming you up thing without you… I thought it would be better if you didn’t get pneumonia on top of everything else.”  
  
“Good call. I’m really cold.”  
  
“Can I…?” Derek motioned at the bed vaguely.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Lie down and warm you up. There isn’t really a heater here or anything, because, you know.”  
  
“I know. Wolves run hot. Sure.”  
  
And there was a dip and the next thing he knew, Stiles was being arranged around that big warm frame, and Derek’s relaxed thigh was surprising and soft but heavy between his, and his cheek was resting on a clean pillow on top of Derek’s arm. The other big arm was around his ribcage, and Derek was holding Stiles’ hand in his, pressed against his sternum to keep him lightly in place as the little spoon. Warm breath stirred the short hair on Stiles’ neck. When Derek was satisfied, they had a little rest, till Stiles’ occasional shivers subsided and he was warm right through. He felt Derek’s voice through his back before he heard it.  
  
“So when you were here before.”  
  
“You are so chatty today.”  
  
“Shut up, Stiles.”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“The other day. I didn’t handle that well.”  
  
“You weren’t mean or anything. No way to tell someone that you just don’t like them without hurting them.” There was a soft grunt of objection in his ear. “I was never mad at you, you know.”  
  
“What I said was that you are too young to know what you want.”  
  
“Well, we’ve disagreed before.”  
  
Derek was very very quiet. “Was - the pond - was it about that, though?”  
  
Stiles was suddenly convulsively tense. “Not just that. Fuck!”  
  
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I -“ Derek broke off. “I thought - I don’t know why - because I am a selfish shit probably - I thought you were pretty happy really. You usually seem happy.”  
  
“I know. I - Derek - it’s all gotten away from me lately, you know? I don’t really sleep.”  
  
“If you weren’t fighting for your life - or Scott’s - or mine! every other week it might help with that.”  
  
“If we weren’t all trying to fucking hide everything that is happening, too.”  
  
“Is it - I know you are close - all this must be putting a strain between you and your father.”  
  
“Oh Jesus, he said he didn’t trust me anymore.” Stiles thrashed and turned in his arms, hid his face against warm cotton and skin. “I just couldn’t stand it. He got stood down from his job and it’s my fault. You can’t fucking imagine - Derek -“ and after a moment of struggle, he started to sob in earnest, and finally, there were tears. He gave a long, muffled wail, as it all caught up with him, crying out into Derek’s breast, his forehead pressed hard to Derek’s collarbone, every wiry muscle in his body working. At first he hardly heard his name, felt the big hands stroking his hair, or heard the murmur of “it’s OK, let it go…” But after a few minutes, the storm of misery started to abate a little so he knew where he was again. Derek stretched away and a second later was handing him a tissue. Stiles gave his wrecked face a cursory wipe and blew his nose without rolling away.  
  
“Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty? Do you think you could sleep?”  
  
“Why are you like this? Why aren’t you mad?” He pulled back to see Derek’s face, and his mouth fell open in surprise when he saw how tender and uncertain his expression was. Stiles knew he would be finding new beauties in that face if he got to stare at it for a month.  
  
“Even if - what right would I have had to be angry with you, Stiles?” he asked quietly. “I am just - I am so sorry that I didn’t do anything earlier. If I’d thought more clearly about it - I should have seen that things were getting rough - too rough.” He gathered him in even closer, forehead to forehead. “And I think the other day, maybe you came to me to - to - talk to me -“ and Stiles could feel Derek’s face heating up - “because you were in a jam and you needed some help dealing with stuff and I was no fucking help to you at all. None.”  
  
“Maybe. But I think I came to you because I just couldn’t stand not knowing if maybe you liked me back, and there was me pining and - you know - wanting you more and more - and starting to feel so fucking lonely ALL THE TIME - and neither of us doing anything about anything.” He shifted away insistently, moving onto his back, and his eyes closed. “But no matter how nice you are being to me, you don’t want me, not really, not the same way, so there it is.”  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“You know that Kate - took advantage of me when I was even younger than you, right?”  
  
“OK.”  
  
“It wasn’t. It still isn’t.”  
  
“I know. But what has that got to do with us?”  
  
“You are 17 years old and I am a 23-year-old fuckup who is trying to be sane about this.”  
  
“Sane about what? And you aren’t a fuckup.”  
  
“I don’t want to be messing you up forever Stiles, like Kate did to me, so that you’re going to hate me someday.”  
  
“Hang on!” Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he pushed himself up, staring incredulously. “I think I kind of hate you already if you’ve been lying to me, you freak! Are you saying you DO like me?”  
  
“Stiles - you don’t understand. You don’t see yourself from the outside. Sometimes you are so, so - sweet. And every now and then when I look at you I can still see the - boy in you, and I think, ‘well Hale, so it looks like you’re a filthy pervert who wants to - whatever - a.’” He sighed. “I don’t want to feel like - a Kate - to you. Ever.”  
  
“So you DO want to - whatever - me! O My God. I was so right! And, also, I am sweet.”  
  
“I said sometimes. And yeah, you were right, but…”  
  
“But - Derek - I see how young you are really, too, sometimes, you know!”  
  
“Jesus, Stiles.”  
  
“Really. When you are quiet, when you aren’t being all… but that isn’t the point!”  
  
“What’s the point?”  
  
“Well - are YOU secretly planning to destroy me? You aren’t, are you?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous! You - you idiot!” Derek grunted in surprise as Stiles thumped him hard in the chest. His voice rose wildly. “Kate DECEIVED you, she played you - because she was EVIL!” He exhaled abruptly in frustration. “Seriously, why the hell would you need to FUCK me to manipulate me, Derek? You already just order me around to do your research and run after your stupid pack and fucking rescue you when you are in a jam, don’t you? You don’t need to LIE to me, to make me do whatever you need, do you? Aren’t we -“ Tears were standing in the boy’s eyes again. “If you didn’t want me because I am a hideous loser idiot that would be totally fair -“ Derek grunted, but didn’t stop him - “but don’t just be crazy and afraid of nothing and not touch me if that is what you want too! Don’t you know what it is like to feel all this for you and to think it is one-sided? To be stuck all by myself, even when you are RIGHT HERE?” and Stiles was suddenly heartbroken and exhausted again and fell back, with the tears running openly and silently down his face.  
  
“Please don’t cry like that, Stiles.”  
  
“Please don’t be an idiot then, you idiot...” and he was trying to turn away, but then Derek was kissing the tears away, and pressing his hand against Stiles’ chest, feeling his heart beating madly under his palm. And then he was kissing him properly, on the mouth, licking at his sensitive upper lip until Stiles cried out into his mouth and his back arched involuntarily, his whole body rigid with the intensity of it. When he could breathe, he looked up into a wide-eyed stare, and got a little of his own back at once, pushing Derek’s wife-beater up to his shoulders and craning up to press his face and his open mouth to that amazing chest, kissing and licking at whatever skin he could find, till Derek pulled his singlet impatiently the rest of the way over his head, and propped himself on one elbow. Stiles seized Derek’s free hand when the young wolf pulled back, and watching his face carefully, and looking him right in the eye, moved that big hand almost defiantly, pressing and spreading the warm fingers open and heavy on his firm belly, just above the loose waistband of the shorts.  
  
Derek’s eyes were astounding, so dark and open, but he still hesitated. “Today of all days, Stiles - you haven’t exactly been thinking clearly. Have you? - you aren’t exactly in perfect control of yourself!” He hesitated as Stiles released his hand, fighting the urge to trace the line of dark hair slipping down out of sight with his fingertip, trying not to feel for a pulse in the almost-hidden blue vein under the soft skin near the hip. And he was trying, quite ineffectively, not to stare at the rise of Stiles’ cock where it lifted the dark material, seemingly surprisingly substantial and evidently already damp at the tip. “Not that… - But.“  
  
Stiles put a soft hand up to his cheek. “Derek - I don’t want to be in control of anything right now. Don’t you get it?” and he was blushing furiously, his face, his throat, the top of his chest and Derek was open-mouthed as he looked down at him. “I want you to kiss me and fuck me and touch me and - just - bruise me and love me and wreck me - until I can’t think of anything but you and your skin and your heartbeat - please, please, don’t hold back! Let me feel that you want me so I can believe it and I’ll know I’m not all by myself. Please.”  
  
And Derek just couldn’t hold out against that, he was kissing him hard and his body was a long hot line down Stiles’ side, and thigh to thigh he held him against the bed, holding him open to his hand, which reached for that springy, curving young cock and stroked its way up, rubbing softly at the head until Stiles was crying out his name and arching up and begging brokenly and illogically to be touched. So Derek pulled the shorts down and off, and now the whole of that firm, pale body was open and tense and rapt under his eyes. He grabbed the pillows he could reach, and tucked them under Stiles’ head, so that he could relax but still see himself.  
  
“Do you see how fucking lovely you are?” Derek asked softly, following the words with a slow lick around and into Stiles’ ear that yielded him an unguarded moan. “You smell like - “ he broke off in frustration, knowing explaining smells was impossible. “You are so beautiful and sweet, it fucking hurts me to look at you.” He licked at the tender skin of that pale throat, and Stiles’ head fell back further, giving him better access to the softness there, and a few sucked-in kisses where the pulse fluttered under the skin were enough to make Stiles’ pretty cock in his hand stir and weep a little liquid onto his caressing thumb. But he wanted him to look, so he slipped his other hand around the back of Stiles’ cropped head, lifted it up a little, and said, “I want you to watch me.” He bent his head and kissed his way across his chest to one very soft pale-brown nipple, and licked and licked and sucked and bit and pulled until Stiles was opening his legs wider and his breath was sobbing in his throat and he was trying to talk.  
  
“I can’t - don’t - I might -“ was the most he could get out. “Don’t touch you there because that is going to make you come? Is that what you are trying to say?” and Derek mercilessly licked his way down Stiles’ body to his navel, feeling him shiver and sigh. “But that’s what I want. I want to feel your hair-trigger. I want to feel you come wet in my hand, and I want you to watch it happen.” And he slid up a few inches and bit pretty savagely down on the other soft little brown bud that he hadn’t touched yet and suddenly Stiles was moaning aloud and helplessly open-mouthed, and trying to say, “that’s - I can’t -“ but also obediently forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to look down along the lines of his body under his long dark lashes as Derek moved his head out of the way and pulled him firmly, while Stiles cried out in shame and ecstasy and he came all over Derek’s hand and his own belly, his long legs kicking with the strength of it, his body curling convulsively into the heat of that forceful hand. Before he could even try to gather his thoughts, his come was being lapped and cleaned away with a warm and careful and thorough tongue so that he could only lie back, and sigh and shiver some more.  
  
Which left Derek was so hard and burning hot, that when a tentative hand reached vaguely for his cock, he firmly moved both Stiles’ hands up and away, and held them there, over his head, and looked down at him, smiling.  
  
“Don’t you need - don’t you want to come?” Stiles asked. “Do you need me to - or do you want -“ and Derek couldn’t help but smile wider, as poor Stiles started to struggle to sit up. He pushed him back down one-handed. “Just lie back. You can watch me, but close your eyes when I tell you to, all right?” He pinned him to the mattress under the whole length of his weight, and leaned forward to kiss him hard, to tongue-fuck him further into submission, drinking in his helpless moans which sounded almost like pain, and then when the sounds were unbearably hot he pulled at his own cock, and started to come almost at once, a little on Stiles’ heaving chest and then a white stripe on his throat, across the little purple-red marks showing guiltily from his teeth, and then, with a growled order to close his eyes, he spurted hard, air forced out of his lungs, onto Stiles’ sweet face, on his curving cheek and on his open, panting mouth, on those kiss-roughened lips and even a little on the tongue that slipped out to taste him at once, soft and curious. And then he was gone, subsiding completely, falling down into the mess of salty damp skin and saliva and come that was Stiles’ breast and face and neck, breathing it all in, feeling those surprisingly long arms fold him close. And they were both quiet.

\--------

“So…” Derek murmured after a long pause. “So I think, after a bit, we should have a talk with your Dad.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah. Can’t have him not knowing what is up with his boy.”  
  
“Maybe one thing at a time though eh?”  
  
“Let’s start with ‘Stiles is pretty much a hero to the werewolf pack of Beacon Hills.’”  
  
“And gradually work up to ‘and he is queer and going-to-be-fucking Derek Hale.’”  
  
“Well, no need to overwhelm the guy with too many details at once.”  
  
“And we never mention the pond.”  
  
“No, wait.” He sat up, and looked down at Stiles’ face in mock-horror. “Oh my God.”  
  
“Am I a mess?”  
  
“Yeah. Sorry.” Derek reached over to pick up his discarded singlet, and started to clean the worst of it carefully off Stiles’ face and neck. “I don’t think that’s right, not mentioning it. You should talk about - the pond - to whomever you want, whenever you want. Or about whatever. In fact I kind of have to insist on that.”  
  
“Did you just say “whomever”, Derek?”  
  
“Please try to focus.”  
  
“So you are telling me NOT to shut up. Even though I am pretty ashamed of myself.”  
  
“If you could see your own face you’d have something to be ashamed of.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Lie down, no, not really.” He finished his ministrations and looked admiringly at Stiles’ sleepy, darkened eyes, his cheekbones from which the blush hadn’t fully subsided, his open, ravaged mouth, and generally sexed-up expression. “You looked like the horniest, most degenerate, fucked-up-est slave-boy in the whole Roman empire.”  
  
“Is that good?”  
  
Derek gave a sudden shout of laughter, and Stiles felt his heart turn over. “It fucking works for me, I can tell you,” said his wolf ruefully, dragging a thumb over that bitten, sucked, full bottom lip almost roughly. “Just look at that …”  
  
“I - seriously though - Derek, listen!”  
  
“I am listening. Stiles! It’s OK, I am right here.”  
  
Stiles was trying to hide his face in Derek’s shoulder, and to breathe slowly again. “I really am ashamed of myself about this morning. I won’t ever… I promise. No matter what happens.”  
  
“That’s good. That’s.” And Derek turned Stiles’ face up with his finger along his jaw, and looked steadily into his eyes for the longest time. He leaned forward and kissed him hard and close-mouthed on the brow, a seal to the promise. He saw that Stiles’ goofy-with-sexiness look had faded for the moment - suddenly every plane in his face stood out, and the man-to-be had replaced the boy-that-was, for the moment. Derek felt a strong pang in his chest, looking at that too-serious young face.  
  
“Fuck it, Stiles. You shouldn’t be ashamed - you were just two months early and you forgot your skates. Easy mistakes to make, when you’re out in the woods and you think you’re all alone.” And he lay back down, resting his cheek on that hard warm shoulder, to have another little rest, or possibly to sleep for three hours.  
  
Stiles lay there thinking about that for a minute, or possibly two.  
  
“You know, you should talk more, Derek. You are really good at the talking.”  
  
“Talking makes me tired.”  
  
“You know I’m right though. You’re actually almost funny!”  
  
The only reply was a grunt so sleepy it was hardly indignant at all.  
  
“Like, even, that time when you hit my head on the steering wheel: “You KNOW what that was for!” That was kind of funny.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Stiles.” (Followed up with a heroically-tight hug.)  
  
“You looked amazing before - when you were coming, you know.”  
  
“Shut up, Stiles.” (But the effect was completely ruined by the warm, slow smile Stiles felt against his skin.)


End file.
